The last thing George saw was a green light. He woke up to whiteness. Was he dead? The Killing Curse was the same colour. He guessed he was dead, but who killed him? The last thing he remembered was Ron, sobbing.
He was in a bed. He sat up and looked around the room. It was unfamiliar. The walls were painted like the sea. George had never been in a room like this. It was beautiful. He wondered if Fred liked it. Fred was around here somewhere.
"Hey George. Do you remember me?" Harry had entered the room without his notice and was nervously fidgeting near the door.
George was confused. Of course, he remembered Harry. He remembered a thirteen year old Harry.
"You look older." He looked relieved.
"How much older?" Harry looked about eighteen.
"Eighteen?" George asked. He really had no idea. A Guesstimate was the best he could give. Harry nodded.
"Nineteen, but close enough. What are some of the last things you remember?" George waved Harry over and he carefully perched himself on the side of the bed.
"I remember you being thirteen. I remember knowing where Fred was more than ninety percent of the time." George stared at Harry. He paled and cleared his throat.
"I do not think that I'm the best person to tell you about Fred." He looked finished with that statement.
"Can I find someone who will tell me then?" George pushed the sheets over his legs to get out of bed, but Harry held him down.
"I do not think that would be the best idea at the moment." Harry took a breath.
"Your memory was taken." George froze. In the back of his mind, he knew this. He knew Ron was sobbing because something horrible happened, but Ron had done this? His Ronnikins had made him forget his other half?
George choked down a sob and exited the room. Harry let him go. He had to find Ron.